


Together Alone

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Body Worship, Bottom Javert, Explicit Sexual Content, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, Oral Fixation, Orgasm Delay, Prostate Massage, Restraints, Top Valjean, can u tell wot my kinks r
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 12:20:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12817395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It was an unfounded kiss, and now he is at his lover's mercy.





	Together Alone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slytherintbh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherintbh/gifts).



> I have Many Assignments I should be doing because exams are coming up and I'm Want Death. Instead, here's some soft, sweet lovemaking. (It's severely rushed and hella Not Edited, so take it with a grain of salt.)
> 
> (Also I promise 'are you lost in paradise' is not dead. It's something I want to devote time to, and seeing as I have no proper time to do that till after exams... tis on hiatus. But it will continue!!)

He knows intimately the dull ache after a slap, the smarting sting when a fists breaks skin and blood wells from the wound. He’s felt dozens of different sets of fingers around his throat and blinked away the resulting sparks and expiring breaths as his assailant hoped to best him. Too many of his smallest scars are pale crescents where whores or drunkards have clawed for their release, and many a knuckle and wrist has he bruised or broken to avoid the blows they attempt to land. Yes, Javert is no stranger to the hazards of an unbound cur. He’s heard the best method is to incapacitate the legs, first, to prevent escape, but hands are far craftier, can do all manner of wily things when desperate enough. They are wholly unpredictable, and he tells himself this in an attempt to better understand Valjean’s request to have his, Javert’s, bound by a silk cravat and secured above his head. This he reminds himself as Valjean finishes the knot and sits back on his heels, coaxing a groan from the mattress, his head inclined to one side, a smile soft on the lips he’d used to steal Javert’s breath not moments prior.

 

It was an unfounded kiss. One moment Javert had been stood solemnly in front of the fire, waiting for Valjean to bring their evening tea, the next a presence loomed behind him, pressed warmth to the back of his neck, and turned him around to claim the sigh from his tongue before it had a chance to form fully.

 

“ _Thief_ ,” Javert had muttered affectionately, mouth brushing Valjean’s, and they laughed as one.

 

“If I am as you say,” Valjean teased, “why not wield your authority?”

 

“Would if I was still Inspector,” Javert answered, baring his teeth in a grin. “But seeing as I am not, I find myself at your mercy.”

 

Valjean laughed again before pulling him into another kiss. It was chaste and unsatisfying, so Javert was eager to be led into their bedroom.

 

And now he finds himself exactly that - at his lover’s mercy, though knowing not just how charitable Valjean intends to be tonight. The restraints imply plenty, but Valjean is as ever a mystery in his lovemaking, so Javert cannot be sure of anything. Some nights, pleasure is prolonged for hours, no inch of him left untouched. Others, Valjean bears down on him with nigh unfathomable devotion, their bodies one in movement and heat and sweat, the night a frenzy of caged moans and straining muscles.

 

Tonight, there is a hunger in Valjean’s eyes, but he remains poised by Javert’s side, examining him from the silk at his wrists down to the band of his trousers where already Javert’s excitement is apparent.

 

“Will you just stare at me all night, then?”

 

“I am only admiring a moment,” Valjean says, forever smiling.

 

In the candlelight, he is softer than any painted saint and limned in the glow of his goodliness. Every line on his face, cast in bold relief, is a testament to the struggles he has faced, and even his hair curls in gentler dove’s plume grey.

 

“I might do the same, you looking as you do,” Javert says quietly, overcome a moment until he sees again the darkness behind Valjean’s adoring gaze.

 

It sends his stomach into a dive, and he wets his lips. Valjean watches, intent and fascinated, and Javert does so again, quite involuntarily. Behind him, at the back of his head, the ribbon holding his hair digs uncomfortably against his nape, and he looks at Valjean and clears his throat.

 

Turning his head to the right and resting his cheek against his arm, he says, ““Undo this, would you?”

 

“Of course,” Valjean replies, his voice smooth in such a way that Javert’s skin forgoes goosebumps entirely, though still it rushes with a delicious shock of heat and chill.

 

Returning to his kneeling position, Valjean props Javert’s head with one hand and uses the other to undo the ribbon, casting it aside before carding his fingers through Javert’s hair, fanning it out as best he can.

 

A burst of tingles skitter down the back of Javert’s neck and along his spine, and he sighs appreciatively as Valjean massages his scalp.

 

“How often must I tell you not to tie it so tightly?” Valjean scolds.

 

“Would you rather I just cut it?” Javert quips, but his laugh is interrupted as Valjean gives a sharp tug. Before protests can be made, Valjean abruptly ceases his efforts and lets Javert’s head fall onto the pillow.

 

“Quiet now, love,” he says, setting their faces inches apart and gently prising Javert’s mouth just slack enough for him to slip his tongue inside as he kisses him.

 

Initially taken aback, Javert soon eases into the kiss, gasping when Valjean deepens it to the point of breathlessness. It lasts a while, or perhaps time does not work when Valjean lavishes him so, but when he does break the kiss and sit prostrate once more, Javert feels as undone as if they had been making love all night. His breath is quick and shallow, cheeks flushed, trousers far too tight, and Valjean, he knows, sees all of it. Now if the damned man would _do_ something about it…

 

“You are quite beautiful,” he says instead, and Javert fails to suppress an exasperated sigh.

 

“So I have been told, yes. Now will you have me or do you intend to torment me further?”

 

“I would not call my appreciation of you a torment,” Valjean says plainly. “Nor do I think _you_ really think that.”

 

As if to prove his point, he rests a hand on Javert’s upper thigh, and there it sits, unmoving but oh so implicative, and the heat from his palm burns through the fabric of Javert’s trousers. His other hand comes to caress Javert’s cheek, blunt nails trailing first through his whiskers before his thumb ventures upwards to rub slow circles against Javert’s temple.

 

“All I want of the time we spend here together is to comfort you. Your pleasure is my only pursuit.”

 

With eyes closed and mind lost to the haze Valjean’s adoring words cast upon him, Javert turns to nuzzle his cheek against Valjean’s palm. He does not see the smile this receives, but feels as the hand turns to a lax fist, the backs of Valjean’s knuckles stroking his face, and he kisses each finger.

 

“Do as you may,” he croaks. “I am yours.”

 

“And I, yours,” Valjean whispers, and with his free hand, proceeds to undo the buttons of Javert’s shirt.

 

He makes of it an agonizing process, though Javert suspects having only one hand for the task is not so easy. To show appreciation for his lover’s efforts, he lifts his head just a little higher to press his lips to Valjean’s thumb. As he’d hoped, it follows the sensation, the rough finger matching the movement of Javert’s mouth but hesitating when Javert parts his lips so Valjean’s thumb rests just inside. They look at each other then, Javert doing his best to appear in control of the situation and hoping for an expression of surprise from Valjean. Instead, and much to the thrill of his betraying body, Valjean looks all the more dark behind his carefully lidded eyes, and he does not wait for Javert’s consent, merely slips his thumb between Javert’s teeth and rests it atop his tongue.

 

Javert does not close his mouth or, indeed, do anything at all, so Valjean takes the initiative and curls his thumb down, pulls out, straightens it, pushes back in. His other fingers hold Javert’s chin, and they stay like that a moment, Valjean stroking Javert’s tongue, in and out, as Javert struggles to maintain eye contact.

 

“Well,” Valjean says eventually, almost inaudibly, and Javert shudders.

 

Having neglected his initial mission, Valjean sets to work once again removing Javert’s shirt, all the while gazing at Javert as he ravishes his mouth. The last button presents a bit of an issue, and Valjean must employ both hands to the task, but never one to leave something so rudely unfinished, he takes care to drags his thumb one last time over Javert’s tongue, then over his bottom lip, and down his chin, trailing saliva that gleams in the meager candlelight.

 

Before Javert has the chance to say anything, the button is opened, and Valjean’s sure, steady hands spread beneath the tails of his shirt, parting it and exposing his abdomen. Leisurely, they venture upwards, fingers sprawling over every inch of skin they can reach.

 

“G- _od_ ,” Javert finally manages, eyes slipping closed again, chest rolling with heavy inhales, stutt,ering with laboured exhales. Everywhere Valjean touches alights with something unfailingly and unexplainably _good_ , and he’s lost to it.

 

The hands continue upward, and then, sans warning of any kind, Valjean suddenly casts aside the fabric fully, and as his hands grasp lovingly Javert’s waist, his mouth proves an adept replacement, tongue and teeth tasting the most sensitive areas, earning a hitched cry from Javert.

 

“ _Ah-hn_!” He gasps, legs parting far too easily than he will ever admit as his lover settles between them to gain a better vantage point.

 

Valjean obliges the unspecific plea, ghosting a hot, wet breath against Javert’s nipple as he takes it between his teeth. Groaning again, Javert’s still bound hands reach up and around Valjean’s neck and urge him forward. Eager to accommodate, Valjean lets Javert clumsily press their mouths together, yielding with a surprised hum as Javert’s tongue proves rather more aggressive than usual.

 

Somewhere during the kiss, one of Valjean’s hands ventures further down and around Javert’s hip, and only when Javert moans into his mouth do either of them realize where it has paused. Valjean pulls back, just a hair's breadth, and Javert cannot begin to understand how he looks so composed. His hair is mussed where he, Javert, has entwined his fingers, but there is not so much as a bead of sweat on his proud forehead. His eyes though…

 

His eyes, so kind and shy, but now the pupils are blown wide, a chasm to match Javert’s stomach as it plummets again.

 

“Javert,” he says, voice hoarse and _deep_ , and Javert could not help the involuntary jerk of his hips even if he’d intended to.

 

“ _Please_ ,” Javert whispers. “Valjean, please…”

 

Another kiss, and Valjean guides Javert’s hands back above his head as they do, traipsing his fingers down Javert’s arm, then his chest. He sits up, leaving Javert to stare with his mouth half open. It stays that way as Valjean works the fastenings of Javert’s trousers open, and Javert lifts his hips to hasten their removal.

 

After an arduous moment, he is laid bare for Valjean. Under less… salacious circumstances, he would insist his modesty, but if Valjean is so damned intent on lavishing him, then let him do so.

 

When Valjean does not indulge the anticipated pleasures, Javert rolls his eyes and demands to know, “Well? Is it your intention to leave me so unsatisfied?”

 

In truth, Javert is anything but. However he deems it criminal to rile a man to the point Valjean has and keep just from reach the release only he can provide.

 

“Never,” Valjean replies, and Javert is struck by the immediacy, indeed _adamancy,_ of the word. “Never, Javert. Only I find myself incapable of thought or action when I look at you. You are _so_ beautiful, _mon cher_ . And that you would entrust yourself to me, allow me to give you pleasure, to _love_ you…”

 

Javert does not need to bring Valjean to him, the man doing so of his own desire, and when they kiss, Javert’s cheeks are damp.

 

“You are a fool, Jean Valjean,” Javert manages to say despite the tautness at the back of his throat. “A damned fool, and damn me, too, because I love you for it.”

 

“Anything,” Valjean murmurs against his lips. “I would do anything for you.”

 

“And to me?”

 

He’d not expected Valjean to catch the quip, but he does and gives a great laugh for it.

 

“Of course. But you are right, I have tormented you enough already.”

 

How the man can, at one moment, be weeping from overwhelming affection and, the next, speak as fervently as a temptress, Javert is certain he will never know, but any complaints are promptly stifled as Valjean finally, _finally_ takes him in his hand and strokes with such tenderness, all Javert can do is throw his head back and groan.

 

“Yes, Val _jean_ ,” he sighs. “Ah- _hahhh, God_.”

 

At first Javert was mortified at how loud he apparently was. He’d tried, in the beginning, to allow only the smallest whimpers, especially when Valjean commented one evening on his verbal proclivities. When his schemes were discovered, however, Valjean sought to inflict pleasures Javert had never devised in even his most indecent dreams, making it impossible for the man not to cry out Valjean’s name over and over as his body was manipulated beyond endurance. Since then, they’ve settled into a comfortable medium, Javert promising not to censor himself so long as Valjean does not render him half brainless and limping for the next week. Though, on occasion, Javert does not object to his lover’s more unique ministrations.

 

Tonight appears to be an administering of the more docile variety, which is hardly to say Valjean’s hand is not _thoroughly_ apt and precise, for very soon Javert is twisting in the sheets as Valjean does so similarly with his fingers and wrist. Tension builds, and as Javert writhes and begs, he feels the cravat about his hands loosen, but he couldn’t care in the slightest. So close, so close to that edge…

 

“Valjean,” he gasps. “ _Please yes there_ . Valjean _ple-ease_ I’m so- _oh_ close.”

 

Much to his dismay, Valjean’s hand slows and then disappears altogether, and the whine Javert emits should incite immense shame, but his desperation cares little for his decency.

 

“No, _mon cher,_ not yet,” Valjean says, and Javert opens his eyes, prepared to fix his lover with a vengeful glare, but how can he when Valjean looks like _that_.

 

His calculated visage has crumbled, perspiration dampening the curls on his forehead, mouth half agape as he pants slightly; his eyes are still impenetrable, and Javert swallows thickly as they lave his body from head to naval.

 

“Stay,” he commands, and although perplexed, Javert watches obediently from the bed as Valjean quickly rises, procures something from the small bedside desk, and settles himself, once more, between Javert’s legs.

 

Peering curiously at the item in Valjean’s hand, Javert catches the glint of glass and understands immediately. It is not an activity they often indulge what for the mess and, more often than not, pain of it, but sometimes, when they are both particularly amorous, their bodies fit together in a harmony of pleasure and vulnerability, and tonight is of no exception. Confusing, however, is the fact that Valjean is still fully clothed, but Javert makes no protest, all too eager to be taken by his lover.

 

“I realize the implications,” Valjean says upon catching Javert’s keen interest of the vial in his hands. “But actually, I do not intend to take my pleasure from you tonight, Javert.”

 

Frowning, Javert asks, “Whyever not?”

 

“Because yours is the only pleasure I wish for right now.”

 

“Valjean,” Javert says, incredulous, and props himself on his elbows, “surely you cannot think me so selfish?”

 

Valjean smiles, shaking his head, and his curls float about his head like the mists of an elegant waterfall.

 

“Not selfish at all,” he reassures and places a heavy palm against Javert’s chest, coaxing him to lay down. “I may never be able to explain it, but to devote myself to your body is a pleasure all its own. I am not depriving myself, I am merely loving you to the fullest extent that I could hope to.

 

“Please, Javert,” his voice lulls to a reverent hum, spoken like cashmere into Javert’s ear. “Let me have you. Let me love you.”

 

Forever awed by this impossible man, Javert can do little else but nod, and Valjean’s smile at that, oh his _smile_ … Javert cannot glimpse it directly, and a heavy heat spreads at the corners of his own.

 

“I will be gentle,” Valjean says.

 

Possessing no reason to believe otherwise, Javert wills his body pliant to Valjean’s hands and lips, gasping as they set to work, first, on his thighs, deft fingers kneading lean muscle, lips brushing skin, teeth occasionally grazing. Where most Javert needs attention, however, Valjean resolutely refuses to so much as look.

 

Very soon, though, Javert cannot curb his impatience, and he reaches down to stroke Valjean’s cheek, lifting his head so their eyes meet. A wordless exchange passes between them, and Valjean nods, just barely, prompting a quaking shudder through every one of Javert’s already incapable limbs.

 

“You are too good for me,” Javert murmurs, watching his lover drip oil into his hand and coat his fingers judiciously.

 

“I am no better than you or any man,” Valjean answers, leaning forward to administer a glancing kiss.

 

“Then perhaps one day you will allow me to show you otherwise,” Javert says with as sly a smirk he can muster.

 

What little ground he gains from this promptly collapses as Valjean sits back and, with one slick hand, sets to opening him, face drawn in an expression nearer to reverence than lust. It _sharps_ a wave of desire through Javert, and he quite keens as the first finger slips inside.

 

Javert has surrendered himself to this particular act only a select few times, oft overwhelmed by the feeling of exposure, but Valjean never derides and never visits upon him anything but the bright flush of pleasure, and Javert, presently far too gone to protest, readily lets Valjean’s fingers explore.

 

It takes but a moment of awkward prodding, and then Valjean _presses_ , and Javert’s eyes flutter closed, his spine curling of its own volition as the air forces from his lungs in a staccato hitches. Valjean, too, exhales laboriously, but does not wait for Javert to settle onto the mattress, working his finger with careful inward and upward thrusts that relegate Javert to helpless writhing. A second finger joins the first, and there is at first a sting, but it fades to nothingness as Valjean moves exquisitely inside him.

 

“ _God_ ,” Javert moans, and then, as Valjean takes him and strokes him with his other hand, “ _Jean…_ ple _ase._ ”

 

“Anything, _mon cher_ ,” Valjean breathes. “You are so, _so beautiful_.”

 

“I love you,” Javert hears himself say, too divorced of his own coherency to make sense of anything but the nimbleness of Valjean’s hands, the weight of his voice. “Jean, _Jean_ , God, _yes_ , I love you _please please…”_

 

And Valjean, bless him, does something _excruciatingly_ perfect with his wrist and index finger, both shattering the world and any pretense Javert may have yet clung to, dissolving everything in a conflagration of _white_ and _release_.

 

Javert lingers there, suspended in the reverberations of the snapped cord, returning to himself by pieces made whole again as Valjean lays down beside him and gathers him close, bestowing feather light kisses to his cheek, behind his ear, the damp nape of his neck.

 

“Thank you,” he says, speaking into Javert’s tangled hair, and Javert’s sore body melts against his.

 

“What… ever for,” he manages. “Should it not be me thanking you?”

 

Valjean holds him tighter as though he might make their two bodies, one.

 

“Only if you wish,” he says, and Javert gathers the last of his strength and turns so he is facing Valjean, so he can caress and kiss his forehead, his cheeks, his lips.

 

“All that I wish for is granted, Jean - joys I never fathomed before I loved you, hope and life. You give this all, and still you think yourself indebted. You are truly a fool, a saint and a fool for that, especially, and I love you, Jean Valjean. I love you, though it may seem impossible, but you make me want the world on its head if it means I am yours.”

 

“For as long as I am allowed you,” Valjean says, “for as long as I have left on God’s good earth, my only desire is to be with you and reward you the bliss you have given me.”

 

“I fear I have not given enough,” Javert says. “Not yet.”

 

“We have time,” Valjean replies, and then laughs as Javert places a tentative hand on his hip. “But perhaps not tonight.”

 

He continues, before Javert can protest, “I am not so young as you, Javert. Besides, this was the whole of my intention, nothing more.”

 

“You planned to interrupt our evening so you could ravish me and deny yourself?” Javert asks.

 

“You say that as though I have committed a crime, _mon cher_.”

 

“Against yourself, yes.”

 

“Well then,” Valjean grins and his eyes glitter in the dying candlelight, “tomorrow I can make reparations, but for now, my dear inspector, I find myself quite spent. In fact, I cannot imagine your own fatigue. You were rather very… responsive.”

 

Javert flushes heavily and tries to look away, but Valjean catches and lifts his chin and steals a smiling kiss.

 

“Incorrigible,” Javert mutters.

 

“A step up from thief, then,” Valjean jokes before turning to snuff out the candle and offer his arms again.

 

Javert, suddenly aware that he is naked but for his shirt, wraps what he can untangle of the blanket around himself before succumbing to Valjean’s embrace.

 

“Will you not make light of lover’s stolen hearts?” Valjean asks when Javert does not respond to his prior sentiment.

 

Pressing his face to Valjean’s neck, Javert murmurs against the steady pulse beating there, “I can only call you a fool so many times before the word loses meaning.”

 

“And what a shame that would be,” Valjean sighs contentedly, resting his chin in Javert’s hair.

 

“Rather,” Javert responds, almost inaudibly, sleep coming fast, and with a final, parting “I love you”, he lets himself slip into the safety of Jean Valjean’s arms where rest is dreamless and the promise of an even sweeter morning awaits him.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, love to hear feedback! :>


End file.
